


i want blood, guts and chocolate cake

by writing_good_vibes



Category: Child's Play | Chucky (Movies 1998-2017)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Sex, Cake, F/M, Vaginal Fingering, rated m to be safe, reader doesn't really know what chuck gets up to when he isn't around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 18:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30110376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_good_vibes/pseuds/writing_good_vibes
Summary: Chuck's birthday.(Charles Lee Ray x Reader)
Relationships: Chucky | Charles Lee Ray/You
Kudos: 8





	i want blood, guts and chocolate cake

**Author's Note:**

> in honour of brad's birthday i am thirsting over charles lee ray.  
> the one where you care more about chucky's birthday than he does (because he has *issues*)  
> set way before child's play and part of a longer reader insert fic i am working on.  
> agrees totally with the head canon i see around that chucky is a sucker for a girl who will cook/bake for him.

You had no idea what time Chucky would get home, you never did, but you felt him get up that morning. Out of bed, creeping around to get dressed (bumping into your dresser and swearing under his breath), the sound of his heavy footsteps on the stairs and then finally the slam of the back door closing. You jumped up, hurriedly, putting your pyjamas on.

Heading downstairs and into the kitchen, you pulled out the carefully stashed baking supplies from the back of the cupboard.

It was Chuck’s birthday, the least you could do was bake a cake.

You never claimed to be a chef, but you were somewhat proud in the fact you’d basically perfected baking a simple cake. Just mix the ingredients and bake.

Once the cake was successfully in the oven, you started on the frosting. This could be an issue. You were not a fan of chocolate frosting, but Chucky loved it. And it was _his_ birthday.

You sighed, turning to one of your housemates who was sat at the table eating breakfast. “You reckon I should do vanilla or chocolate frosting?”

“What flavour is the cake?”

“Chocolate.”

“I’d go with chocolate frosting then.”

You sighed again. Fine, chocolate it was.

You got to work, mixing a huge batch of frosting to smother the cake. You’d even bought coloured icing to write a message on the top.

Your brow furrowed as you tried to think of something witty to write. Anticipation was building in you already as you pictured his reaction.

***

It was late that afternoon that Chucky returned, you heard him barge in past the poor housemate who’d opened the front door for him and then his harsh knocking on your bedroom door. You jumped from your desk and unlocked the door.

Chuck shouldered past you and threw himself face first on the bed, rolling onto his back and trying to shimmy out of his coat without getting back up.

“Hey, Chuck.”

“Afternoon, babe,” he replied, offhandedly. If someone had particularly pissed him off or things hadn’t gone his way, he was distant and moody until either you had sex to cheer him up, or he seethed for long enough and perked up by himself.

“Have you forgotten what day it is?” you asked. You knew he wasn’t the biggest celebrater of birthdays, happy to simply ignore them altogether, but you wanted to celebrate, make the day special – or at least enjoyable – it kind of upset you that he’d gone AWOL for most of the day, so you couldn’t spend it with him.

“I have not,” he replied.

You frowned and sighed, but went over the bed and lay beside him, “Happy birthday, Chuck.”

His movements stilled.

Sensing his unease, you added, “I got you a present.”

His smirk returned, “Oh yeah?” His hand snaked around your waist, “Am I gonna enjoy it?” he said, suggestively.

“You will, later,” you promised, knowing exactly what he was talking about, “But I have another present for you first.”

You stood back up, putting Chuck’s hands over his eyes. “Stay there, I’ll be 2 minutes!”

He sighed with annoyance but did as you said, lay on the bed with his hands where you placed them.

You hurried down to the kitchen again, retrieving the cake from the counter, along with two smaller plates and a knife, and juggling the whole lot back upstairs to your room. When you got back, Chucky was sat on the edge of the bed, his shoes kicked off and his jacket slung over the chair in the corner but, surprisingly, his hands were still over his eyes.

“Hurry up, I'm not waiting around all day like this,” he complained.

You set the cake down on your desk and removed the tinfoil covering it. Picking it up on its plate, you held it out to Chucky, low enough that he could read the message on the top. “Open your eyes!”

He moved his hands, blue eyes first going to your face and then dropping to the cake in your hands, scanning the icing quickly. He burst out laughing, throwing his head back and grabbing his side.

A grin stretched across your face.

“Baby, this is,” he tried to speak between laughs, “this is a work of art!”

The cake was covered in chocolate frosting, and the wonky lettering on top spelled out “Happy birthday Chuck!” and in much smaller and, honestly barely legible, writing you had written, “Thanks for screwing me for a whole year of your life.”

He bit his lip as his laughs subsided, looking into your eyes wickedly. You placed the cake back on the desk, cutting you each a slice.

Chucky was not a polite eater, picking the slice up with his fingers and taking a huge bite.

“Wow, maybe I’ll make a housewife of you yet,” he comments slyly.

“You wish,” you replied, sitting beside him on the bed and poking through all the frosting with a fork to get to the cake inside.

He wolfed down the cake, licking the frosting from his fingers and sighing impatiently when it took you longer to finish eating. Despite this impatience, you just knew he’d be angling for another slice later, and probably another. His sweet tooth was something to be reckoned with when he was in a good mood.

No sooner had you taken the last bite, was the plate out of your hands and practically thrown on the desk. He grabbed your chin, so you had to look into his eyes, “Do I get my other present now?”

You shrugged, pretending like it was inconsequential to you, “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Don't get smart with the birthday boy,” he snarled, pulling your face towards his and kissing you roughly. He still tasted like chocolate.

You smirked, taking his face in your hands, and kissing him deeper. “ _Only_ because it’s your birthday,” you muttered between kisses.

He pushed you back on the bed, climbing on top of you, hands working fervently to get your clothes off while maintaining the kiss.

Deciding to help him out, you pulled your tank top over your head, while he did the same with his shirt.

He ripped your pyjama pants and panties off in one go, and you kicked them away before they got tangled around your feet.

His fingers were warm against you and, pushing one inside, you keened against his hand.

“Chucky, please!”

Chucky usually had no patience, but it _was_ his birthday after all, and he was allowed to have some fun with you, “Please what?” he pushed another finger in, thrusting them slowly.

Why was he playing hard to get when this was _his_ birthday fuck? “Please,” you begged again, “I need it.”

“You do, do you?” he removed his fingers, slick with your wetness, and unbuttoned his trouser. Pulling his dick out, he continued, “You’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him closer.

His hand brushed your cheek, before he planted it firmly next to your head, to give him leverage as he thrust into you.

Your gasp elongated into a moan as he filled you, your mouth hot by his ear.

***

Afterwards, when you lay panting, his face pressed against your neck, you mumbled, “You’re not going out again tonight are you?” You didn’t want him to leave you again, and you didn’t put it past him going out on whatever expeditions he undertook late at night, even on his own birthday.

“Nah, babe, I’m not,” he dotted a few kisses on your neck, working from just under your ear to the dip of your collarbone.

“So, I’ve got you all to myself tonight?”

“I’m all yours.”


End file.
